


An Old Friend

by thirtypercent



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Character Study, Community: sherlockbbc_fic, Friendship, Gen, Possibly Pre-Slash, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Some Humor, slight PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:32:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirtypercent/pseuds/thirtypercent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“So what’s this Sherlock fellow like, then? He seems half daft, if you ask me.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A deep, droll voice cuts into the conversation, as Sherlock slides into the seat next to John without a sound. “Some would say quite daft. But then, small minds do mock what they don’t understand.”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Old Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21697.html?thread=126753217#t126753217) prompt on the kinkmeme.
> 
> Thanks as always to Interrosand and Provocatrixxx for their beta-ing prowess and general loveliness. <3

John sits on the edge of his favourite armchair, eyes fixed to the rug between his feet. His palms are clammy, and he scrubs them against his trousers in a fit of frustration. He takes a deep breath, and leans forward to check the email thread on his laptop for the dozenth time.

***

_Hullo, Watson!_

_I’ll be in your neck of the woods on Saturday. What do you say to a pint? I’m buying._

_Cheers,  
Bill_

_***_

_Bill! Wow, it’s been awhile. You still mouldering away in Sussex?_

_As if I’d let you buy -- I certainly owe you more than a pint or two. How about Bree Louise on Cobourg, 8pm?_

_JW_

_***_

_See you there._

***

John refreshes his email a couple more times, then checks his phone. No last-minute cancellation from Bill. He sighs. He’d best get moving, or he’ll be late.

He rises carefully to his feet. A twinge starts up in his knee, but he clenches his teeth and ignores it. He’ll be damned if he goes to meet Bill hobbling along with a cane. Not after the man patched up his shoulder in the midst of a war zone. He can feel the flush creeping up his cheeks at the thought of it.

He’s being ridiculous. Bill Murray was -- _is_ \-- a friend, and he should be looking forward to this.

But he thinks of Bill and all he can remember is the smell of blood and antiseptic, disorientation and panic, fever and exhaustion. The pity in Bill’s eyes when they knew he’d never be a surgeon again.

At least Sherlock has hared off somewhere, so John’s safe from that sharp gaze at the moment.

John forces his feet forward. Coat, wallet, keys. The click of the door, the carefully measured beat of his footsteps on the stairs, and he’s on his way.

***

Bill’s already there when he arrives. It’s getting crowded - it _is_ a Saturday evening, after all -- but Bill has managed to snag a corner table in the dim room. He brightens and waves an arm when he spots John.

John swallows and picks his way through tables and chairs until he reaches Bill, who grins and claps him on the arm. “John! Good to see you in more neutral territory, eh?”

John forces a smile. It _is_ great to see him, alive and healthy. He’s not so tan anymore, not in rainy England, but he looks happy. “Yeah, it’s good to be back.”

He notices two pints, already on the table, gathering condensation. An unreasonable wave of irritation flashes through his blood. “Oi, I thought I was buying?”

Bill laughs as he slides back into his seat. “You get the next round.”

John forces himself to relax, and takes a seat across from Bill. He wraps a hand around his glass, and casts about for an appropriate topic. “So, I hear congratulations are in order? You got hitched, right?”

“That I did. We’ll be having a baby in May, even. So I’m living vicariously through that blog of yours, these days.” He raises his glass to John’s with a grin.

John thinks of Sherlock, and his breath comes just a bit easier. His mouth twitches. “Half the time, I think _I’m_ living vicariously through it. Sometimes even I can’t believe what we get up to.”

Bill’s eyes brighten. “So it’s all true, then?”

“Every word. And more -- some things I’m not allowed to write about.”

“So what’s this Sherlock fellow like, then? He seems half daft, if you ask me.”

A deep, droll voice cuts into the conversation, as Sherlock slides into the seat next to John without a sound. “Some would say quite daft. But then, small minds do mock what they don’t understand.”

Bill’s eyes widen. “Is this...”

John grabs Sherlock’s arm, wool coarse under his fingers. “What are you doing here?” he hisses.

Sherlock ignores him. “I am indeed Sherlock Holmes. And you are Bill Murray, I presume?”

Bill nods, then reaches out a hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrow at Bill’s hand, but after a beat, he reaches out to take it in a deceptive impression of a normal human being. “Odd. I haven’t heard anything about you.”

John kicks at Sherlock under the table. “Seriously, Sherlock. How did you even know I was here?”

Sherlock doesn’t take his eyes off Bill. “I read your email, of course. It was still open when I went to look up the water percentage of human fingers.”

John drums his fingers on the table. “Sherlock. I’m meeting a friend. Would you please leave?”

“Oh, not just a friend, certainly?”

John freezes. “What do you mean?”

“This man saved your life.”

Bill’s eyes dart between the two of them. He laughs, but it’s forced. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I was just doing my job.”

John speaks through gritted teeth. “Sherlock. I never told you that.”

“You didn’t have to. Your email made it clear. You owe him, far more than a couple of pints, you said. Clearly also a military man, judging by his haircut and tan lines. And going by your clear discomfort at being here, the hand tremor you’re currently failing to hide, and the fact that you’ve never mentioned him: it was something personal. And significant.” 

Sherlock’s voice shifts from the rapid-fire delivery of a successful deduction to something careful and controlled. “And what could be more personal and significant than saving your life?” Sherlock turns his gaze on John for the first time since reaching the pub.

John flattens his hands on the table and tries to control his breathing. “Please. Stop.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen. “John, I...” He glances toward Bill, then back to John. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

The air leaves John’s lungs in a rush. “Why?”

Sherlock’s face twists in a scowl. “I should think that would be obvious.”

Sherlock turns back to Bill, and claps his hands to Bill’s shoulders, pinning him in place. Bill’s eyes widen further, and he sets his pint to the table with a sharp rap, sloshing beer over the rim.

“Mr. Murray.” Sherlock pauses with a frown. “What you’ve done for my colleague has proven to be invaluable to my work. I... shudder to think what havoc the criminals of London should have wreaked without his assistance. Please accept my thanks, and an open offer for consultation on any topic you’d like investigated -- free of charge, of course. My email address is on my website, which you seem to be quite familiar with. Contact me day or night.”

Bill’s mouth has dropped open by the end of Sherlock’s speech, but he manages a nod. “Uh. Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“Excellent.” Sherlock drops his hands from Bill’s shoulders. “Well. I must be off. I have an experiment in the oven, and I shouldn’t like it to burn.” He nods at John. “John. I’ll see you at the flat.”

With that, Sherlock slides off the stool and whirls away, disappearing into the crowd with enviable ease.

Long moments pass before Bill closes his mouth.

John winces. “ _Shit_. I am... so sorry, mate. That was...”

“Quite the story.” Bill’s smile slides slowly back in place. He picks up his pint and takes a fortifying swig before he speaks again. “I’ll bet not many blokes have a standing offer for free crime-solving from the great Sherlock Holmes.”

John stutters his response. “Yes. Well. Uh, I’ve never actually seen him do that before, so, yeah.”

Bill’s answering smile turns a bit conspiratorial. “Well. He must think highly of you.”

John can feel a flush creeping up his neck, and he shrugs, keeping his eyes on his beer. “Well, I don’t know about that. I try to keep him from getting killed and tell the world about his antics, is all.”

“Well, it seems like you’re doing something right.”

John takes a deep breath, and feels something loosen in his chest. He meets Bill’s eyes, and feels a smile come easily for the first time all day. “Maybe I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is Bill Murray the canon character who saved John's life, not the actor. :) I disregarded a bit of detail they give in the blog for my own ends, so I guess you could consider this a teensy bit AU.
> 
> Anyway - thanks for reading! This was actually a lot of fun to write, slash or no slash. Oh, these characters. <3


End file.
